


A Ring for Christmas

by sabrina_il (marina)



Category: Scientific Method Universe - Kris Ripper
Genre: BDSM, Blindfolds, Butt Plugs, Caretaking, Electricity, Established Relationship, Genital Piercing, Genital Torture, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Predicament Bondage, Restraints, Rough Oral Sex, Sick Character, Yuleporn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 23:09:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12994533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marina/pseuds/sabrina_il
Summary: Bernie's sick, Nick is stubborn, Christmas doesn't go as planned but still turns out pretty great.





	A Ring for Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [were_duck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/were_duck/gifts).



> So, I played around with the timeline a bit, so technically this might be an AU in terms of beach house books.

**December 21st**

“We’re not going,” Nick said, dressed in a red-and-green Christmas sweater Bernie had convinced him to wear, that somehow still looked like designer fashion on his ridiculous body. “That’s final.”

“Nicholas,” Bernie said, except the last syllable was replaced with a fit of coughing.

“Don’t even try that,” Nick said, storming off into the kitchen and doing something with the kettle, from the sound of it. “I was the one who suggested we go to your sister’s for Christmas,” he called out. “But we can’t go anywhere with you barely being able to breathe.”

“It’s just a cold!” Bernie tried to say, except the coughing got in the way again. He waited until Nick was back, sitting down next to Bernie on the couch and holding out a cup of tea with honey and a slice of lemon. Bernie took a few sips and finally managed to voice his objection.

Nick pressed his palm against Bernie’s forehead. “You still have a fever. You’ve had one for the last two days.”

Bernie was about to remind Nick that he was not twelve years old and a fever was not an insurmountable hurdle, thanks to modern medicine, but Nick said, “Do you want to get the kids sick? We’ll either have to keep them away from you or Mel will have four sick little monsters as a Christmas gift.”

Bernie had to concede, that was a distinct possibility. Keeping his nieces and nephew from him entirely would be difficult bordering on the impossible, and he remembered Mel’s exhausted horror stories of having one child infect the other until the household turned into a makeshift hospital for weeks. She’d love to see them, of course, but maybe now wasn’t the best time.

He let himself lean against the couch cushions and close his eyes. The room was spinning.

“We’ll visit next year,” Nick said, softer this time, holding the cup of tea to Bernie’s lips and supporting Bernie’s head with his other hand until Bernie took two more sips. His throat ached, the warm liquid was like swallowing rocks.

“Let’s get you back to bed,” Nick said, rising and extending his hand to Bernie.

“Fine,” Bernie said, using Nick’s hand for support as they went up the stairs. “But I still intend to give you your present, Nicky, whether we’re going to Milwaukee or not.”

“I’ll look for it under the tree, Bern,” Nick said.

“No,” Bernie said, as they reached the master bedroom. “It starts now. I’ll go lie down and you go clean yourself out. Use your favorite enema kit.”

Nick hated all of Bernie’s kits, but there was one he hated in particular. The color was bright red, everything from the bag to the tube to the nozzle.

He could see Nick bristle, could see his hackles rise, but Nick took a few deep breaths and worked through it. Such a good boy. Bernie wanted to kiss him but he didn’t think even Nick’s famously excellent immune system could handle such a direct infusion of germs with no consequences. Having one of them be sick over the holidays was more than enough.

“And then?” Nick said.

“I’d like you to clean the dishes downstairs and run the dishwasher. Clean all the kitchen surfaces, while you’re at it. We’ll also need something to eat for the next few days, if we’re staying home. Make a list of groceries and show it to me when you’re done.” The coughing came back, but Bernie managed to get it under control and keep talking. “Feed the dogs, of course. Then see me for further instructions.” Bernie smiled.

“That doesn’t sound very present-like, Bern,” Nick said, with a glimmer of a smile. “Just sounds like you want me to do extra chores.”

Bernie reached up slowly and grabbed Nick’s hair with one hand, while holding his chin with the other, making sure Nick felt caught and held. Supported. “After your enema,” he reminded him, before pressing a kiss to Nick’s cheek and retiring to the bedroom.

 

 

**December 22nd**

Bernie woke up feeling slightly better, though the world was covered in a layer of disgusting haze. Nick made him get up so he could change the sheets.

“Take a shower, Nicky,” Bernie said, when he was lying on fresh linens. A shower meant Nick would have to take out his plug, take off his cock cage.

“I showered yesterday,” Nick said.

“Do it again,” Bernie said.

“Are you saying I’m filthy?” Nick said, opening the bedside drawer to take out the cold medicine he was no doubt about to force Bernie to take.

“I’m saying I’d like you clean and bare in front of me in the next twenty minutes,” Bernie said.

“Are we going to have a problem with this?” Nick said, holding out a glass with a few leftover sips of water in one hand and two pills in the other.

Bernie rolled his eyes before sitting up slightly and taking the offerings.

“Always forget what a terrible patient you are,” Nick said, before kissing Bernie’s forehead. Bernie was about to counter that Nick was much worse - refusing to even acknowledge he was sick until Bernie had to practically drag him to a hospital, but before he could say any of that Nick was gone, off to the shower.

When Nick was done, freshly toweled and naked in their bedroom, Bernie took a few moments just to take him in. Nick’s body was not a new sight, of course, but they’d never been in quite this position before. With Nick feeling like himself - minus the nervous energy he’d been swimming in for weeks, which Bernie planned to address over the next several days - and Bernie feeling so weak and out of sorts with the world. This moment was wholly new, in a way. They both had to learn how to navigate it.

“Touch yourself,” Bernie said quietly.

Nick didn’t move. “Bern.”

“Is there something wrong with your hearing? Are you coming down with something too?” Bernie asked.

Nick wrapped his hand around his cock, grudgingly, through gritted teeth, and began to stroke.

“Go slow,” Bernie said. “There’s my good boy.”

Nick’s intake of breath was sharp and furious. “Don’t do this,” he said, hand keeping up its rhythm. “I’m not in the mood.”

A lie, if ever there was one.

“Well, I am,” Bernie said. “Keep going.”

Normally they had a routine with Nick’s orgasms. He wasn’t allowed to come unless Bernie specifically allowed it, of course, but with weekdays and weekends, time at the gym and at home, there was a familiar feeling of balance to things. An established routine. Bernie knew Nick felt it too.

The holidays were different. Nick had taken an entire week off, originally to go to Milwaukee, and now everything was a little off balance. A little unpredictable, a little on edge, in the best way. Even with Bernie feeling like something a truck ran over on the highway.

“Where are we going with this?” Nick said. He was grunting now, still stroking himself, getting close.

“I’ll text you the roadmap,” Bernie said, feeling a calm settle over him. He had a specific purpose in mind, a place he wanted Nick to go, eventually, but it also served to remind him that there was nothing in the world he loved doing more than this.

Nick kept jerking himself, kept grunting, until the effort of keeping his orgasm back took a physical toll. His hand slowed down to the barest movement. There was sweat on his face, in his hair.

“Come here,” Bernie said.

Nick kneeled next to the bed, awaiting instructions. Bernie could feel his throat aching again, so he simply looked down at Nick’s cock to convey his instruction.

Nick wrapped his hand around himself again, letting out a small sigh. He leaned his face against the bed and Bernie buried his fingers in Nick’s hair, pulling him back so he was exposed.

“Count to ten, Nicky. Go as hard as you can.”

Nick’s hand sped up, squeezing around himself like a vice, and the sighs turned to moans. “One,” he said, and kept counting on every breath, not all at once, like a good boy. Bernie was proud.

He didn’t come by the time he reached ten, of course. Bernie hadn’t given him permission. Nick let out a strangled, frustrated sound, struggled for a few breaths, and then sat back on his heels, chest sagging. Eventually he moved, settled himself with his back against the bed, his hands at his sides.

Bernie caressed his hair.

“Please let me blow you,” Nick said.

“No. I’m not up for it, I’m afraid,” Bernie said. He knew for a fact orgasming wouldn’t be an option in his current state, and letting Nick exert himself right now without getting to satisfy him fully would be a bad idea.

Nick grunted in response. After a minute or so he got up, put on sweats and a t-shirt and went downstairs to make Bernie more tea, without even asking whether Bernie was ready for more liquids.

They cuddled in bed together. Bernie was hot to the point of sweating, the medicine doing its work.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Nick said, face resting against Bernie’s chest.

“What?” Bernie said. He was feeling a little manic.

“You’re not feeling well. You don’t have to do… the whole thing, right now. It’s fine.”

“My reasons are purely selfish, Nicky,” Bernie said, kissing the top of Nick’s head.

This wasn't Nick being serious. He hadn’t slipped so far back as to let his insecurities convince him Bernie was only playing a part, only trying to please Nick. At least Bernie didn’t think so, and he couldn’t see clearly enough right now to tell whether he was wrong.

No, this felt more like a momentary indulgence. A tiny fit of insecurity, possibly brought on by seeing Bernie unwell for an extended period of time, for the first time since they moved in together about two years ago.

“Fine,” Nick said, breathing as evenly as ever. “You should sleep. Let the meds work better.”

Bernie hated admitting it, but Nick was probably right. The manic feeling was fading and now he could barely keep his eyes open.

“I’ll make some food for when you wake up,” Nick said, rolling out of bed and tucking Bernie in before drawing the curtains together to block out the sunlight.

 

 

**December 23rd**

The medication ensured Bernie slept through the night, instead of waking up shivering and unable to breathe, but he woke up in the morning feeling like the world was a garment he’d put on that somehow didn’t fit right.

Nick brought him breakfast in bed - eggs, toast, fresh fruit salad with blueberries and apples.

“I’m working on pancakes,” Nick said, before heading back downstairs.

Bernie hated being sick. Hated being too weak to roam the house freely when they finally had so much time together and the unexpected quiet of a holiday at home. Breakfast - which eventually included pancakes, a fresh smoothie made with room-temperature vegetables and hot tea - tired him out. He let himself read for an hour - or try to, as his body kept slipping back into sleep - to feel more like himself.

Then he went back to the plan. Preparing Nick for his present, without telling him what it what it was. Of course, Nick probably knew it was the thing he’d wanted for a long time now, the thing he’d brought up several times as something impossible, inappropriate, impractical. But the game was to let him keep guessing, keep wondering whether Bernie had picked up on it, had somehow found a way to incorporate it into Nick’s life.

“Cage off, Nicky,” Bernie said, sitting up in bed, propped up by three pillows.

“You don’t like it anymore, Bern?” Nick said, not making any move to obey. Not making any move to stop what he was doing, in fact, picking up a few stray tissues that had fallen from Bernie’s bedside table to the floor, instead of the tissue bin they’d put next to the bed.

“Whether it’s on or off is my decision,” Bernie said. His throat was sore again. He drank a few sips of hot lemon-and-honey water while Nick took off his pants and used Bernie’s key to take off the cage.

“Should I take the plug out too?” Nick said, already half sneering. Taking off the cage without giving him a solid reason was always a tricky move.

“The plug can stay,” Bernie said. “Bring me the weights kit. Meet me downstairs.”

Bernie let himself lie back for a few moments after Nick left the room, giving his own body a stern talking-to about giving out on him when it really mattered. He was fine to go downstairs and spend a while sitting on the couch, goddammit.

Nick knew Bernie didn't mean the weights Nick stored in their home gym and sometimes used to supplement his regular workouts. Nick brought him the correct item - the bag of small weights they used to torture Nick’s genitals, which came in various shapes and sizes for different kinds of play.

The heaviest weights in the set weighed one pound, and one of them was a flat circle, the size of a large dinner plate.

Nick waited naked, on his knees, eyeing Bernie warily, as Bernie looked through the harnesses, strings and wires that allowed the weights to be attached safely. He sent Nick to retrieve a few more pieces of equipment, a few more tools to make this work.

“We’re starting with this,” Bernie said, holding out a blindfold made of brown fabric and waiting for Nick to come closer so Bernie could tie it around his head.

“Bern,” Nick said, by way of objection.

“What’s the issue, Nicky?”

Nick paused, considering his words. “Doesn’t feel safe.”

That was unexpected. “How so?”

Nick sighed. “You’re sick. If I can’t see, you have to do everything, no option of me helping. I don’t like it.”

That made Bernie angrier than it should have. Of course this was about Nick being worried about Bernie’s safety, with his awful, debilitating illness of having a cold or the flu or whatever this stupid thing was.

He took a second, checked in with himself. He was unusually weak and tired, and everything felt highetened. The fact that Nick worried about him so openly, let Bernie see this side of him, was a huge gift in itself. It was something to celebrate, not something to be annoyed about.

“You’ll put on this blindfold, Nicky,” Bernie said, softly. “Right now.”

Nick came closer, still on his knees, and let Bernie take away his eyesight. Next Bernie tied his hands together in the small of his back, and then gently tipped Nick forward, trusting his impressive core muscles and flexibility to let him bend down gracefully until his face was resting against the carpet.

Nick grunted as Bernie wrapped a harness around his cock and balls, and attached the flat, round weight to his testicles like an upside-down parachute.

“Get up, sweetheart,” Bernie said when he was done.

Nick straightened his back again, with effort. “This a fucking workout, Bern?”

“Nothing you can’t handle,” Bernie replied. “Spread your legs for me.”

Nick grunted and spread his knees a little wider.

Bernie picked up a small plastic clip, the size of a fingernail, which he brought with him from upstairs, and rubbed his fingers against Nick’s taint before placing it there.

Nick shuddered.

“Bring me the throw blanket from the coffee table,” Bernie said. Nick had moved the coffee table out of the way before Bernie came down. It was now about five steps away from the couch.

Nick tried to move, put one knee in front of the other in the right direction, but instead he moaned and said “Fuck.”

He tried to take another step, but the weight wouldn’t let him. It was too heavy, too large in diameter. He’d taken more weight than this on his balls before, but he’d been motionless. Walking with this kind of weight, carrying it entirely on your balls as you move, was basically impossible. It felt like your insides were about to be ripped out. Bernie knew this from personal experience, since he’d played with the weights when they first got them, as with all the toys he ever intended to use on Nick.

“Fuck you, Bernie,” Nick said, a little breathless. “Fuck this. Fuck.”

Bernie waited. There was nothing more beautiful than this in the entire world. Watching Nick fight himself, push against his own limits, sort through the different parts of himself all thanks to a predicament Bernie’s placed him in.

“How the fuck is this supposed to work?” Nick said, already sounding more open, more vulnerable.

“Deep breaths, sweetheart,” Bernie said. He wished he had a cup of warm liquid to sip from, his throat was getting sore again. But now was not the time to admit to Nick that his constant plying of Bernie with liquids had had a point.

“I can’t lift this thing,” Nick said, a little scared and a little angry, admitting defeat.

“You don’t need to,” Bernie said.

Nick shuddered again. It took a full minute for his back muscles to settle, for his breathing to calm again. He knew what Bernie had meant.

To get to the coffee table Nick would have to stay in a partially hunched over, uncomfortable position that made walking on his knees difficult and slow, to keep the weight flat on the ground.

Nick took one experimental step and grunted. He kept adjusting his posture, trying to find the best way to distribute his weight. He couldn’t see himself, Bernie had made sure of that, but he _felt_ awkward and clumsy, graceless in his own body, and he craved that feeling only a little bit more than he hated it.

When the coffee table bumped against his torso he stopped, leaned his forehead against the laquered wood and took several long breaths.

“The throw blanket, Nicky,” Bernie reminded him.

Nick searched the table with his nose, his face, until the found it, folded neatly and waiting to be used. He opened his mouth and bit into it. It took him a few tries to turn around, without losing his grip.

“My good boy,” Bernie said, after Nick took two steps back towards him.

Nick was helpless to respond - mouth and eyes and hands otherwise occupied. But Bernie knew by now when Nick was ready to hear such words, and they were past that point now.

The way back was harder. The blanket was a new element to balance and keep hold of. When he finally dropped it in Bernie’s lap Nick was done. Exhausted by this small exertion, soft and pliant, resting his head against the blanket, bunched up like a pillow on Bernie’s legs.

Bernie caressed his hair, let him take deep, measured breaths.

“You’re a real bastard, Bern,” Nick mumbled, without moving.

Bernie smiled. In a few minutes he’d untie the blindfold, Nick’s hands, take off the harness and let Nick cage his cock again. He’d take off the tiny clip last.

 

 

**December 24th**

In the morning, they went to Hugh Reynolds’ house for brunch. Nick’s friends all liked to gather at Hugh’s for Christmas, unless they were away, and Bernie had no problem with that plan, but Nick had insisted that Bernie needed to rest at home and brunch was the most they could commit to.

It turned out to be… not the worst idea. Bernie was mostly fine now, but still feeling exhausted, and after a few hours of food, drinks, and interactions with Reynolds’ household as well as Mistress Lucy and her boys, he started coughing again, tried to get it under control, failed, and was effectively dragged back home by Nick to recover.

He felt like sulking in the car - not at Nick, but at himself and his body that wouldn’t get over this stupid illness already - but ended up falling asleep.

Nick must have helped him get inside the house, half drowsy, because the next time Bernie was properly awake it was evening and Nick was busy downstairs, cooking a “healthier” version of a Christmas dinner.

Bernie ended up supervising, from the living room couch. He felt like himself again. Clearer and healthier than he’d felt in days.

Once they’d had food - Nick still wouldn’t touch anything with dairy in it, but he made mac-and-cheese salad and mashed potatoes for Bernie - Bernie went upstairs and sorted through his supplies and special hiding spots himself until he had all the things he needed.

Downstairs, he told Nick to take off his clothes and get on his knees, before taking out his usual daily wear butt plug and replacing it with an e-stim one. It was made of clear plastic, and came with an attachment and a remote control. Bernie taped the wires to Nick’s thigh and kept the remote nearby, on the couch.

“Turn around again,” Bernie said, and Nick, already high on submission and fear, turned around again on his knees, spreading his legs wider and resting his head against the floor.

Bernie picked up the tiny clip and rubbed Nick’s perineum before attaching it. Nick grunted. It was the first point of actual pain Bernie had given him.

“Get back here,” Bernie said and Nick rose to his knees again, and turned around, facing Bernie.

Bernie grabbed his hair, forced Nick’s eyes to meet his. “Looking forward to this, Nicky?”

“Worried you’ll collapse in a second,” Nick said, with a teasing smile.

Bernie smiled back at him. “Not to worry. Pressing buttons isn’t too taxing.”

He picked up the remote and turned on the plug in Nick’s ass. The automatic program meant bursts of current that were practically unnoticeable at first, but would build up slowly.

With the hand not holding the remote Bernie pulled his cock out of the sweat pants he’d been lounging in. He wasn’t hard yet, a testament to the fact his body wasn’t fully recovered, but he felt the arousal coursing through his body.

“Finally gonna give me my present, Bern?” Nick said. His eyes were hungry. The e-stim plug was always a big hit, stripping him down quicker than almost anything.

“Not yet,” Bernie said. “But you’ll enjoy sucking my cock in the meantime.”

He grabbed Nick’s hair and pushed him forward, until Nick’s eager mouth had Bernie’s cock buried to the root. They hadn’t done this in a while, and Nick was even more enthusiastic than usual. Bernie’s fingers were buried in Nick’s hair, holding on for dear life.

Bernie knew the electricity was finally kicking in when Nick started writhing, pushing his ass out like he was trying to fuck the air at the same time as he was choking himself on Bernie’s cock. The electric shocks always made Nick’s insides suck the plug in deeper, grip it even harder, making sure every new shock went straight to his prostate.

But of course, Nick’s hands were clasped in the small of his back, like a good boy. When they’d first done this, if the stimulation got intense enough and Nick got desperate, he would try to touch himself through his cage, somehow, or rub at his balls or groin area, anything to relieve the building tension. But they’d come such a long way since then.

Bernie fucked into Nick’s mouth and held him down, pushing hard into his throat for one, two, three seconds before letting go, letting Nick breathe again, resuming normal rough rhythm of the blowjob.

Bernie knew he had maybe 30 more seconds left in him. It had been a few days without an orgasm, and Nick like this was irresistible. Watching him be so utterly consumed by stimuli, by sucking Bernie’s cock, by having sharp, painful lightning bolts go off inside of him.

The pleasure built and Bernie let himself close his eyes, feel Nick’s hot, wet mouth around him, the solid beginning of Nick’s throat, the mess of saliva smeared all over them both. He dug his fingers even harder into Nick’s scalp and whispered “my good boy” as he came into Nick’s mouth. Nick swallowed and swallowed, mouth sucking and throat working, until Bernie finally pulled him away by the hair.

It took a few seconds for Bernie to open his eyes, lick his dry lips, reach for the remote and turn off the plug.

Nick sagged, with a sound that was half relief half disappointment, head resting in Bernie’s lap. His eyes were damp with tears.

Bernie pulled him up for a kiss. They licked and tasted each other, Bernie dragging Nick up on the couch, until both of their breathing settled into something reasonable.

Bernie took out the clear plastic plug and replaced it with Nick’s usual one. He took off the tiny clip on Nick’s perineum and covered them both with blankets. For a while they both rested, cuddled together, Nick lying half on top of Bernie.

“Do you want some hot chocolate?” Nick asked, eventually. “I can make some whipped cream. Truman showed me a while ago.”

Why was Nick asking Truman to show him anything of the sort? Nick wasn’t a big fan of cooking, and he didn’t touch things like whipped cream. Was he learning these things specifically for Bernie? Like this offer to make a drink only Bernie would get to enjoy?

“No, thank you,” Bernie said. “I think it’s time I gave you your actual present.”

Nick looked up. “You’re not getting yours until tomorrow morning, so might want to rethink that.”

“No,” Bernie said. “I think now is the time. You should have as long as possible to think about your options.”

“What?” Nick said. He got up when Bernie pushed him away, and put his clothes back on while Bernie looked through the things he’d brought from upstairs.

Finally he handed Nick a small box that easily fit in his palm.

“Bern…” Nick swallowed. “That’s definitely not a ring, right?”

Bernie considered his answer for a moment. “It’s not.”

Nick’s eyes narrowed at Bernie’s hesitation.

“It’s not a wedding ring, Nicky,” Bernie said. “I promise.”

Nick looked at the box for a few more moments before taking it and opening the lid. Then his expression changed. He stared at the contents for a long time before saying, “Oh.”

After a few more minutes of silence, and Nick’s face showing every emotion from anger to gratitude to fear to joy, biting his lip and closing his eyes and never actually saying a word, Bernie said: “are you ready to hear the terms and conditions? Or would you like more time?”

Nick closed the box, which contained a small, silver piercing in the shape of a ring, too wide for any of Nick’s fingers, and with a solid silver ball on one end.

They sat on the couch and Nick held the tiny box with both his hands, not looking at it.

“I…” Nick said. “I don’t know that I can do this, Bern.”

He’d wanted a genital piercing for over a year. In fact, Bernie suspected he’d wanted it for most of his life, a way to mark himself permanently as a pervert, a queer, the boy no one had wanted, even the people who’d given birth to him. He’d wanted it forever as an affirmation, a sign he belonged to no one but himself.

But in the last year it had been about marking himself as the man who had a steady partner, who owned the business he’d built, the man he’d never let himself imagine he’d truly be one day. Had not wanted to be, for a long time.

He wanted it desperately, but unlike a tattoo somewhere on his body, a genital piercing was “expensive” in terms of intangible resources. The procedure itself was quick, but the piercing took a long time to heal, required maintenance and care and the stakes were higher if something went wrong. Nick could never bring himself to do something so indulgent.

He was also limited in his options, since the cage made piercing his cock or balls complicated. Bernie could always work around it, but he knew Nick would feel like one day he might have to choose between being caged and being pierced and that was a deterrent. Which only left the option of piercing his perineum.

“The way this will work is,” Bernie began, “you’ll take a week off work after it’s done. Another week working half days. The cage will be off for that entire time, and maybe longer, pending my approval. You’ll create a modified exercise routine for the first month, and I’ll run it by an independent source to make sure it’s reasonable. You will submit to every requirement I have about changing your routines and getting medical attention related to this piercing, in the immediate aftermath and more broadly in the future, from changing the brand of your underwear to informing your physician that checking your piercing will now be a regular part of your check-ups.”

Nick swallowed.

“I can’t take that much time off,” he said, finally. It was a weak statement, said in desperation. Bernie needed to add only a tiny little push to make Nick accept this gift of being relieved of the responsibility for giving himself this thing he’d wanted for so long.

“This will be the last year you spend without a piercing, Nicholas. It’s already decided.”

Nick put the box next to him on the couch and buried his hands in his own hair. “God.”

“I do have one decision for you to make,” Bernie said. “I’ve already found an excellent piercer to do this for you, but you get to choose when it happens. We can do it tomorrow, and your week off work will be the week we were going to spend at Hugh Reynolds’ beach house, or you can pick another date in the next two months, and take a week off then.”

Nick looked up at him.

“You can decide tomorrow morning. I think Hugh already suspects we might skip out on the beach house this year because of my health, but we’ll need to tell him for certain by breakfast tomorrow.”

“God, Bernie,” Nick said, voice shaky. He leaned over and grabbed Bernie’s head, forcing them both into a kiss that was surprisingly gentle. “This is… god,” Nick said when they drew apart.

He picked up the box again. “What were you going to do if we’d gone to your sister’s?”

“I had other plans,” Bernie gave him a lopsided smile. “They might come in useful next year, so don’t expect me to reveal all my secrets.”

“The gift I got you is pretty nice,” Nick said, “but this is… god.”

Bernie smiled a full-on, genuine smile this time. It had worked exactly as he’d hoped. Whatever Nick decided tomorrow, this was the right gift to give.

“Take me to bed, Nicky,” Bernie said, leaning his head against Nick’s shoulder, and Nick kissed him again and did as instructed.


End file.
